The Years Have Seemed Short (But the Days Go Slowly By)
by mykindofparty
Summary: For Mrs. Hagberg, retirement is all about sleeping in until 7 AM, pruning her prized rhododendrons, and taking bubble baths until her wrinkles have wrinkles. Most days books are her only companions. Except on Tuesdays. That's when she gets around… to the bowling alley. Part of the Mrs. Hagberg series. Mentions of Brittana.


**The Years Have Seemed Short (But the Days Go Slowly By)**

**Summary:** For Mrs. Hagberg, retirement is all about sleeping in until 7 AM, pruning her prized rhododendrons, and taking bubble baths until her wrinkles have wrinkles. Most days books are her only companions. Except on Tuesdays. That's when she gets around… to the bowling alley.

**Characters:** Mrs. Hagberg, Brad the piano man, Sandy the waitress, Ms. Rose the lunch lady (Marley's mother), Dr. Lopez, Santana Lopez, mentions of Brittany Susan Pierce

**A/N:** A companion to _Opposite of Adults_; _Those Damn Cheerleaders_; _Leader of the Packrats_; and _Married in Blue, Always Be True_.

* * *

_The seasons are changing,_ Mrs. Hagberg notices as she pulls into the Lima Lanes parking lot one Tuesday evening in September. The cool air sends an unwelcome shiver down her spine as she steps out of her Taurus –slowly, cautiously– and serves as a reminder to pull out her thick wool socks and electric blanket when she gets home.

She hates autumn.

She hates winter more.

She used to love them both.

She's no spring chicken– she's well aware– it's just that she worked her ass off for forty years teaching every subject under the sun… but for _what?_

So she could sleep in until 7 AM every day? So she could prune her prized rhododendrons and take bubble baths until her wrinkles had wrinkles? So she could read the countless dust-covered books that she hasn't touched in decades? So she could fall asleep watching _Wheel of Fortune_ every night?

When she thinks back to her bucket list, she's pretty sure none of those activities were on it. Sleeping until noon would be a much greater accomplishment.

She hasn't done that since college.

George Bernard Shaw was right; youth is wasted on the young.

Hell, she hardly even gets out of the house these days, with her weekly visit to the bowling alley being the main exception.

Her bowling bag weighs her arm down and her entire body seems to follow, giving her a hunched appearance that probably isn't too far from the truth.

Somehow this burden she's carrying is the furthest one from her mind.

She cheers up slightly when she makes her way inside and passes by the Pro Shop, where the Golden Pin– the coveted prize given to the first place team– sits on the windowsill, twinkling in the dim light, asking to be stolen.

Begging her to be the one to steal it.

Sure, it's just an ordinary bowling pin spray painted gold, but she's a recovering hoarder with a clean house and an empty home.

She joins Brad by the league bulletin board, not surprised when all he offers is a nod. "Who are we bowling against tonight?" she asks him.

He points. _The Pin Doctors._

"They're in second to last place," she says.

He doesn't say anything. He never does.

"They come for the beer and stay for the bowling, I think."

He doesn't crack a smile.

"You have an impeccable poker face," she tells Brad. "Too bad you only play it online."

Dog tired from doing nothing all day, she takes her time making her way down to lane four where two more of her teammates are waiting. Ms. Rose, their newest member, waves to her.

Fuck that.

Waving takes too much energy.

So do most other things.

Sandy, who's been a waitress at Breadstix almost as long as Mrs. Hagberg taught, says hello.

"Who's our fifth?" Mrs. Hagberg asks, skipping the small talk. She really doesn't want to hear how Sandy was passed over as General Manger in favor of a nineteen year old bus boy. Again.

"It was going to be Tickles, but they don't make bowling shoes in his size. Y'know… for clowns," Sandy says, whispering the last part like it's a secret.

Mrs. Hagberg looks over at those idiotic Pin Doctors. "I'm not forfeiting to those beer guts."

"The other lunch ladies already have their own team otherwise I'd ask one of them," says Ms. Rose.

Mrs. Hagberg considers her options. Sandy Ryerson is out of the question. He'd probably spend the whole night selling that god-awful reefer out back behind the bowling alley while Lima's boys in blue occupy lane twelve.

Sue's also a no. She's got her hands full with that grandchild– er, _child_– of hers.

She'd ask Will Schuester, but Brad might kill her in her sleep for that one. Although he won't admit it, she suspects he's even less fond of Will than the rest of the glee club.

As for Roz Washington? She's got Olympic bronze medalist stuff to do. Probably.

"Did you think of anyone?" Ms. Rose pries.

A few more names flash through her mind.

_Emma. Shannon. Mr. Kidney. Figgins. Patches. Howard Bamboo. The shop teacher with no thumbs._

Mrs. Hagberg shakes her head. "Nope."

Just then a voice from the Pin Doctors' table speaks up. "I'll help out as long as I don't have to wear one of those hideous shirts."

Mrs. Hagberg freezes. She recognizes that voice.

It belongs to Santana Lopez.

"I'd rather forfeit," Mrs. Hagberg says with a snort, but it soon becomes apparent that she's going to be overruled when Brad gives Santana a secretive smirk. "Or what about the shop teacher?" she suggests in a last ditch attempt to avoid whatever havoc Santana is bound to cause.

Besides, isn't there some rule that states her former students are no longer allowed to bug the crap out of her?

Or better yet, shouldn't Santana be hundreds of miles away cooking up meth in her dorm room right about now?

But no, Santana Lopez is here, in the flesh.

And there's Santana, there's her equally annoying partner in crime.

Life's a bitch.

"Where's hootsy bootsy?" Mrs. Hagberg asks her.

"Who?"

"Brittany."

Santana frowns. "Oh. My parents said that since I'm in Lima I have to at least spend a little time with them and this is the only time my dad's free. Plus Brittany had homework."

Mrs. Hagberg is unconvinced. "So why are you in Lima on a Tuesday night? Don't you have your own homework? And class tomorrow?"

Santana squirms in her hard plastic chair. "We get a break for Columbus Day," she says, not looking Mrs. Hagberg in the eye.

_Gotcha,_ Mrs. Hagberg thinks. "You should've at least picked a holiday in September."

"So much for being senile," Santana retorts. "Okay, okay, I'm skipping."

"How long?"

"All week," she admits, just loud enough for Mrs. Hagberg to hear over the dull roar of the bowling alley.

The temptation to slap Santana upside the head is overwhelming, but she refrains. "Moron! What're you doing that for?"

"I miss home," Santana says glumly.

"And by home you mean Brittany."

"Well… yeah. She's my girlfriend and I never have time for her."

"You can't skip school forever, Santana."

"I know. I already missed like a thousand cheerleading practices. I'm probably going to get kicked off the squad and lose my scholarship."

"You sound kind of happy about that."

Santana glances up at the screen above her head. "That's because I kind of… _am_," Santana says, before standing up to take her turn to bowl.

Mrs. Hagberg places a hand on Santana's shoulder before she can get far. "Here's a little advice I wish someone had told me when I was your age," she says. "You're allowed to be happy."

Santana's first roll is as good as can be expected of a kid who has likely never played without bumpers. The ball lurches forward, veering to the right before finally knocking over two pins.

"I knew I should've called Henri," Mrs. Hagberg says, disappointment setting in. This match could be a real setback in her quest for the Golden Pin.

"Either this lane's crooked or the floor is uneven," Santana swears. "Or both."

"Just roll again."

Santana eyes her suspiciously as though she can't quite remember if that is an actual rule or not. Her second roll isn't much better, this time knocking down four more pins, giving her a score of six. "Damn, this is better than I ever did with bumpers," Santana mutters.

A loud cheer erupts from lane three. One of the Pin Doctors just bowled a strike and his buddies congratulate him by pouring a beer for him to chug.

"FREE-LAND-ER! FREE-LAND-ER!" his teammates chant.

"C'mon, Freelander, your wife can drink faster than that," one of them says, egging him on and making the others laugh.

Santana makes a disgusted face. "99% of the people in this town suck," she tells Mrs. Hagberg.

Mrs. Hagberg smiles ever so slightly. "For once, my dear, I might actually agree."

By the sixth frame, Santana's warmed up some and hasn't thrown a gutter ball since the third. The Pin Doctors, who started out hot in the beginning, are much more invested in the beer pitchers they keep buying.

Santana picks up her bowling ball and makes her way up to the lane, lips pressed together in concentration. She's in a bit of a jam – a 7-10 split – and her father's doctor buddies aren't making it any better.

One taunts, "Santana, I'm going to make a commercial for my practice. Wanna be in it? The camera loves you! At least… more than the ladies do."

"Yeah," another chimes in, "I would've thought you'd be better at this since you like fingering so much."

Santana's lip is now trembling, and although she is trying her hardest not to let them get to her, her ball goes right between the pins.

"Knock it off," Mrs. Hagberg yells, giving them her best teacher glare. It's the least she can do since the girl's father is nowhere in sight.

It's not like she likes the kid or anything, but still… these are grown men. Picking on a teenager. For being gay.

Nothing about this fun night of bowling is fun yet.

"That's okay, sweetie," Ms. Rose tells Santana about her last roll.

"Whatever," Santana says with a huff, "as long as we win."

It's not the response Mrs. Hagberg was expecting, but she'll take it nonetheless.

They win the first match, thanks in part to Santana's contribution of 94 pins. It's not much, but it gets the job done and that's all Mrs. Hagberg can really ask of a girl who has put up with that crap for the better part of a year now.

During the break she overhears Santana asking Brad something that sounds a lot like "Britt's taking my leaving pretty hard, huh?" and if she cared at all about those damn cheerleaders, even a little bit, it might break her heart.

But she doesn't.

That's what she tells herself, anyway, as she continues to eavesdrop while pretending to polish her ball.

Brad takes out his cellphone to show Santana a video. It's _Gimme More_, Mrs. Hagberg realizes, having gone through her own Britney Spears-inspired meltdown once – back in 2007 – but this version sounds a lot like it was recorded in the McKinley High auditiorium.

As luck would have it, she doesn't get to see Santana's reaction to the video because one of those knuckleheads bumps into her with his beer. She straightens up as much as her crooked spine will allow when she sees that it's Dr. Lopez.

"Sorry," he apologizes, dabbing at her shirtsleeve with a soggy napkin.

"You should be," she spits, before adding, "I would have much rather had a margarita spilled on me."

He laughs, although she wasn't joking. She _never_ jokes about margaritas.

"I recognize you," he says.

She looks down at her bowling shirt. "No shit."

"You teach at the high school," he says, snapping his fingers together with his other hand.

"I taught there, yes," she corrects.

"Santana used to complain about you all the time."

That doesn't surprise her because she used to do the same about Santana and also Brittany, but she's not about to tell the girl's father that.

Dr. Lopez continues, saying, "Until the complaints turned into backhanded compliments and eventually those turned into the real deal."

Mrs. Hagberg shakes her head.

Even talking about this child is giving her a migraine.

"Hey, man," one of those morons who teased Santana earlier says, "What are you doing talking to this coffin dodger?"

"Excuse me," Santana says, butting into the conversation, "She may have one foot in the grave already, but nobody talks about _my_ teacher that way!"

Mrs. Hagberg rolls her eyes. "Not your best effort, Santana."

"Just thought I'd return the favor since you stuck up for me earlier," Santana replies.

Now it's Dr. Lopez's turn to butt in. "Someone was picking on you?" he asks.

For a girl who supposedly loves confrontation, Santana seems reluctant to tell on her dad's friends.

Mrs. Hagberg, however, has no qualms about letting him know what went on.

So she does.

Dr. Lopez turns toward his lane and silently picks up his bowling ball. He walks down to the foul line and places it in the gutter, giving it a hard push while his teammates watch in horror. He walks back, picks another ball at random, and does it again. "By the way," he calls over his shoulder, "After this game, I quit."

"Do you think it's too soon to ask him to join our team?" Sandy whispers to Brad, who shrugs.

By the third frame, the Pin Doctors' score sheet is looking pretty pitiful whereas Santana's getting the hang of this bowling thing. Her last couple rolls have even been right down the middle.

Once Dr. Lopez buys her a beer, Mrs. Hagberg starts to have a good night herself. Of course, she would've preferred a margarita, but beggers can't be choosers at the Lima Lanes Bar and she looks the other way when Santana steals a sip after getting a strike.

As for Mrs. Hagberg, she's bowling her best game of the season so far and Santana's dad is bowling his worst.

Somehow though, that zero is worth a lot more.

"So this is what you do every week?" Santana asks her as the team winds down later that evening. Mrs. Hagberg nods as she shoves all of her crap back into her bowling bag. "I can't wait to retire," Santana adds. "On a beach somewhere. With Brittany. The kids will visit every now and then. We won't have any grandchildren since nobody will be good enough to marry our babies. I'll record all of my music down there and only make public appearances to show off my newest tattoo or promote my latest album."

Mrs. Hagberg snorts. "Sounds like you got it all figured out."

"When my Marley goes off to college, I'm moving there too. That way she always has a good meal and a place to stay if she needs to get out of her dorm room," Ms. Rose says. "I haven't thought ahead to retirement though."

"I'm going to follow Jimmy Buffett on tour," Sandy says.

"What about you, Brad?" Ms. Rose asks.

"Nudist colony?" Santana guesses.

He shakes his head.

"We may never know," Mrs. Hagberg says solemnly.

They're all heading for the door when Santana pulls her aside, next to the Pro Shop. She tries not to look at the Golden Pin out of the corner of her eye. "What?" she asks, not at as bothered as she should be considering _Matlock_ starts in ten minutes. Oh well. They're all reruns.

"I want you to leave Lima."

Mrs. Hagberg blinks.

"Think about it," Santana says. "The people here _suck_. But you are like… the coolest. I don't know why; you just are. You deserve to spend the rest of your life as far away from this town as humanly possible."

Mrs. Hagberg smiles in spite of herself. "Is that all?"

Santana returns her smile before asking her for another favor.

"I promise," Mrs. Hagberg says earnestly.

Santana holds out her pinkie. "Swear?"

They step outside into the cool air and the breeze reminds Mrs. Hagberg to pull out the wool socks tonight.

_The seasons are changing,_ she thinks. _Just like everything else._


End file.
